


A Life Worth Living

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ANOTHER headcanon wowow, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Because SPN isn't TV-MA, Big Boy Cursing, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Declarations Of Love, Grieving Dean, Headcanon, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, I'm just not over this mixtape guys, Love Confessions, M/M, Mixtape, Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 16:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12585588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: See, this weird little guy in a trenchcoat came into our weird little world and I knew: I knew that I was totally and completely… fucked. I knew that if I called you family, you’d leave. Somehow, someway, everyone eventually leaves.But I also didn’t have a choice. Remember, I was fucked.





	A Life Worth Living

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. What the hell is this? Angst on Halloween?
> 
> That's right. You're welcome. (Oh and Happy Halloween! (;)

Thinking isn't always a conscious effort.

Dean doesn't have to think about tying his shoe or reloading a salt gun. Or, like the other day, when he fired his gun at a banshee. He knows how to melt silver bullets; gold isn't much different.

And like when he was on the case, Dean’s mind catapulted straight to Eileen’s rigid body on the examiner's table. Then to the tears sinking its wet claws onto the lid of Sam's eyes, his own posture rigid as he pulled the sheet back over her body.

(Dean didn’t know he would experience déjà vu not long after.)

Loss is even worse. Every hunt, every waking moment of their pitiful lives redirects him to loss. Loss isn’t just a thought that gets stuck like a panic-stricken hamster in a circle. Loss is the big wheel that keeps on turning by _itself._ Loss is the thing that keeps him awake at night with _ifs_ and _whys._ It’s downing ten beers a day. It’s punching a restaurant sign on the outskirts of the outskirts.

It's the hate he has towards someone who reminds him of Cas.

It’s his Walkman tucked in the palm of his hand. It’s the headphones covering his ears like earmuffs. Except, instead of warming him, they contents spilling out freeze his veins, rendering him completely still.

It’s the title of the tape.

**Deans top 13 Zepp TRAXX**

This is third time he’s listening to it from the top, replaying the scene in his head over again—the scene where Cas comes into his room to return the tape. If it was any other tape, Dean wouldn’t think anything of it other than Cas’s futile attempt at understanding gift-giving.

“ _Hey, Cas... I know. Sorry, you were probably expecting to be blasted out with good tunes, and you’re probably driving off to God-knows-where to save God-knows-who this time, because that’s our life. Nothing’s predictable except that there’s always gonna be evil and someone’s gonna be need to be saved from it._

_Almost a decade ago, I was standing in front of my dad’s grave. It wasn’t really my dad’s grave. I was inside my own head… kind of like I’ve been for the past few years… but you know, by a Djinn. Anyway, I was standing there asking about me and Sammy. Why it’s us that get stuck with the butt end of the loaf. Why it’s our job to take on everyone else’s burdens on top of our own._

_Because, see, when I was in my twenties, I had this idea of family beyond Sam. And that’s what the Djinn showed me: a girlfriend, a house, a nine-to-five… Sam had just proposed to Jess and Mom, she… you should’ve seen her. She was beautiful. She wasn’t a hunter, she was just… Mom. And I loved it. Every minute. Figures I had to die to have it, because I never thought I’d get to live out that dream until I was dead. Before I knew what Heaven really was._

_But then Lisa came along, and I did—live it out, I mean. And that’s when I realized why they’re called dreams. I haven’t told anyone this, but I never was truly happy with her and Ben. I loved them, but I started to realize hunting gave me a greater purpose. I was saving lives. In Stepford, I was just a construction worker._

_Needless to say, after I went back to Sam, I gave up on that idea forever._

_Until you came back. The first time, from the river._

_See, this weird little guy in a trenchcoat came into our weird little world and I knew: I knew that I was totally and completely… fucked. I knew that if I called you family, you’d leave. Somehow, someway, everyone eventually leaves._

_But I also didn’t have a choice. Remember, I was fucked._

_Do you know what I did with your trenchcoat when you were gone the first time?  If I’d had a choice in the matter, I’d have just left it in the trunk. But most nights, it would be the only thing that dried my eyes and kept the nightmares at bay. Again, fucked._

_So, I figure, since I’m still fucked going on five years later, that I come up with a compromise._

_I don’t want an apple pie life with you. I’ve accepted that our lives will never be apple pie, and I’m okay with that. I just want_ a _life, with you. If we can’t grow old together… since, you know, you’re a celestial being and I’m probably gonna die before I turn fifty, then let’s call it growing young: You know, let’s share a bed and laugh at stupid shit and kiss sometimes between hunts.  Let’s give the memory foam a run for its name—if you’re up for it. I just want the rest of my days to count for more than motel beds and recycled nightmares and killing my liver._

_Anyway, I’m turning into a chick flick, so if you wanna drop in and tune out now, there are a few Zeppelin songs on the flipside. God knows you deserved it… I’ve put you through so much… I’m sorry._

_And about what you said back in Ramiel’s, if it wasn’t obvious already… me too._

_Okey dokey. Over and out. Safe driving.”_

Dean yanks the headphones out. He feels his teeth catch on his jaw as a long, warm breath escapes his nose. There’s a warm tidal wave that starts at his chest and floods his chilled system. Soon, he’s hot. Hot enough to throw his arm back and catapult the Walkman at the wall. It crashes to the floor, spitting out the tape like a sea survivor without a lifejacket.

It doesn’t need one. Dean’s feelings don’t matter. They never did. Why would they when all he’ll ever be is totally and completely fucked, right?

Cas doesn’t love him. And even if he did, even if he returned the tape for a different reason, he’s dead. The dead can’t love.

Then again, Dean still loves.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what’ll resurrect his soul.

But for now, as he comes down from his brief meltdown and sinks back into his bed, he prays to whoever has their ears on that he stops thinking and feeling any of it. Love. Grief. Hope. At least long enough to get some shut-eye.


End file.
